


two become three

by Nyxierose



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: Five ways Aurora Diaz might've been conceived (and one way she definitely wasn't).





	two become three

**one.**

Shit happened. Ain't that how it always goes? Shit happened, and someone died, but at least it wasn't someone Marcos knew _well_ , and-

Beside him, arm's reach away on their bed, Lorna's playing darts with a set of kitchen knives she found god-knows-where and he's very thankful their bedroom door is thick and her aim is impeccable. After a couple years with her, he's aware that's pretty normal behavior when she's stressed. As long as the knives aren't aimed anywhere near her own skin, he's not worried.

"We tried," she mutters. They've been home for a couple hours now - still weird for him, even having such a concept of home - and they ought to sleep but don't want to and-

"We tried," he repeats, and then he rolls over and presses his mouth to hers.

He could've saved that kid, he knows he could've, if he'd reacted five seconds sooner. But he didn't, for some unknown reason that he will beat himself up over, and now there is one less teenage kid with a less flashy power running around south Georgia. And it's his fault, all of it, and-

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he breathes, pretty sure that she won't.

Lorna is surprisingly chill about the weird quirks of their relationship. The weird days like this one, when the only thing that can snap him out of a strange mood is the collision of skin… he knows it's not her ideal, but she has more than enough ways to stop him if she's so inclined. And he knows, as much as it's possible to know her, that she probably never will.

Right now, what he needs is salvation in the warmth of her skin, and she's a willing enough participant. For once she did less damage, but she's got her own residual blood on her hands and he knows she sees it as he kisses her, as their bodies rock against each other. This won't be an all-time-best encounter for either of them, but it'll be enough to absolve them and-

"We doing this or not?" she mutters.

God, he loves this woman so much.

In their aftermath, Marcos will hate himself for the things they do. He will feel his faith waver just the tiniest bit and beg absolution from anything that is up in the sky right now. But that will be later.

Right now, as their bodies collide so perfectly, he regrets nothing.

**two.**

She gets affectionate when she wants to die. It's a learned reaction, he's pretty sure - from various comments their friends have made, he's well aware that she's never done this with anyone else. The conversation about her relationship history is one of the hundred they've agreed to never actually have, but Marcos has his suspicions and that's enough and-

When he wakes up with her on top of him in the middle of the night, wearing a little less than she usually sleeps in, on the third night of one of her darker episodes, he knows damn well what's going on.

"Make me feel something," she begs as she leans down to kiss him.

Feel something, he's learned, is a kind of code with Lorna. It means, don't be gentle or hold back. It means, bruises are kinda pretty. It means a bit of a compromise from their usual, and it scared him the first time when she took control because he couldn't figure it out, but he's learned since then.

He knows she's not fragile. He knows she's strong enough to handle anything he's capable of. But that doesn't stop the twinge of guilt he feels as he flips their bodies so he can have slightly more control of his situation. And _that_ , in turn, doesn't stop his dick getting hard.

(When he was younger, he used to dream about finding a nice woman to settle down with. His younger self did not have any premonitions about Lorna Dane or her occasionally bizarre mental illness symptoms, and for that he's a little grateful in hindsight. Besides, she's not the kind of woman one can prepare for anyways.)

He slips his hand between them to make sure she's okay, make sure she wants this, and is rewarded with a satisfied yelp as his callused fingers probe her core. Yeah, she's okay. Maybe even better than that. When these episodes are really bad, he's noticed, Lorna's dead quiet. When she's on the edge of feeling better, on the other hand, she gets talkative and playful when they fuck. The little noises she makes, the happy purring and the smile he can barely see in their badly lit room, are signs she's gonna be okay.

"I love you," Marcos breathes as he replaces his fingers with his cock.

It's not quite what she wants and they both know it. His heart isn't in it, not as intensely as she prefers when she's like this, and even the playful bite she leaves on his shoulder - in the perfect place to be hidden even by a tank top, because she's thoughtful like that sometimes - doesn't change that. He loves her too much to fuck her like she doesn't matter.

Still, it's enough, and he gets off and she gets close and it's _enough_ and-

"You're too good for me," she mutters as they separate and then re-align with her head resting over his heart where it belongs.

"No such thing."

**three.**

 

She's gonna be the death of him in that green dress. It matches her hair so perfect - she hasn't dyed it more neutral in a while, hasn't felt like it, he doesn't care enough to ask - and makes her breasts look a little more existent than usual and he's pretty sure he's the luckiest man in this building with her on his arm.

"You're getting me out of this thing, right?" Lorna suggests, as if on cue.

"You mean when we get home?" He helped her get into the darn thing, that zipper was _not_ cooperative and-

"No, I mean at some point before we get out of here. We have time to kill, and I'm fucking miserable, and I seem to remember you liked the last time I wore heels…"

Marcos wants to point out that like is a very strong word and he's got scars from that particular encounter, but what's the fun of gatecrashing parties where they might overhear one little scrap of info if they can't take a little detour and fuck in a coat closet? Priorities, and all that. And the utter lack of any surveillance on them means they'll be spared the usual bullshit about the noise or the accidental lightshow or any of the other public-nuisance things they apparently do, and that's pretty tempting, and-

"You found a good spot yet?"

"Follow me."

Their hands, already joined, don't separate until she pulls him into a storage room at the far end of a less busy hallway and twirls him around and kisses him like air. Lorna is not to be underestimated when she wants something, and she's not particularly subtle right now.

"Wall," she breathes, quickly scanning the room for anything decent they can use and finding nothing better.

Far from perfect, but a distraction in the best way. She clings to him as they crash into each other, and her stilettos leave marks on his hips that will linger for weeks and it is so, so worth it.

"Think anyone's noticed we're gone?"

"They never knew we were here," she laughs.

**four.**

The scanners are looking worse than usual, to the tune of there'll be an attack in the morning if nothing changes. The less vital members of the team are already gone, shipped off to lower-profile bases, but the two of them are among about a dozen who have chosen to stay and fight. Just in case, for one damned time, Sentinel Services actually does what people expect.

All the preparations for their potential last stand have been laid, and now all that's left to do is take what solace they can. At least they've got each other, Marcos can't help thinking. There's been a _lot_ going on, so he's a little hazy on details, but he's pretty sure there's at least one new couple who'll have an awkward morning if they're not dead or worse by the time they process what they've done.

At least he's got Lorna, he reminds himself as their bodies wrap around each other.

He can count on one hand the number of times he's actually seen her scared like this. Pissed off, at least daily, but scared is another beast altogether. Half their survival plans hinge on her powers being just a little stronger than most people think, and he knows that's not helping her headspace. She _is_ strong, he knows that better than anyone, but-

Without words, their bodies respond to each other. There's no need to talk or discuss what might well be their last physical encounter. They have enough history to know each other, to be aware of where to kiss and touch for maximum effect, and the fact that they both want to cry changes nothing.

"Don't forget me," he breathes. Weird sentiment for a man whose partner is currently above him and glorious as she rides him, but he can't stop the fear and-

"You're gonna outlive me," she counters, leaning forward to kiss him and savor as much skin-on-skin as she can. "Maybe only by a couple seconds, but…"

"Nah. You're more badass."

"Fuck you." For a moment, the dark cloud is gone. "You set stuff on fire."

"And you have that stupid dartboard and-"

"You are way, way more badass than me."

He lets it go. This might be the last time. He doesn't want his stupid mouth to ruin it.

If this is the last good thing he ever gets, he wants to die thinking about the sight of her in ecstasy. Watch them get _that_ memory off his eyelids.

**five.**

The domestic moments are the best. Those sweet little moments when Marcos realizes how lucky he is to have this, even though it's a little weirder than he once wanted. He's in love with a good woman - and Lorna _is_ good, a little chaotic sometimes but her heart is pure - and he's got a life with her and it's everything he ever wanted.

It's early morning and far as he knows there's no new madness on the horizon. A rare quiet day for two leaders of the Greater Atlanta Underground, nested in bed without a damn thing they have to do.

He leans down and kisses her forehead, gentle, wondering if she's awake. She purrs, opening her eyes and smiling up at him in that way that would be so creepy if he didn't know her so well.

"So nobody set anything on fire last night?" she murmurs.

"Nobody did anything worth waking us up for," he replies. "Quiet night."

"We should enjoy the quiet while it lasts."

"We should."

They're both a little tired and out of it, but morning wood is in his favor and it's been _weeks_ since they've gotten this kind of decent alone time, and it hits him that this too - mundane whatever lazy-morning sex in the safe nest of their bedroom - is a part of what he wants. Like, he wants _all the things_ with Lorna, but this part is especially good and-

"Do you think anyone would legally marry us?"

He blinks, trying to make sure he processed those words correctly. "Like, sign the paperwork and everything?"

"Yeah." She kisses his cheek, rolling her eyes as his stubble scratches her soft skin. "Probably not, I guess, but-"

"I could make you a ring, babe. If you wanted that. If it'd be enough."

"I want that."

Perfect mundane domesticity. All he ever wanted.

**(plus one.)**

There's so much to process, and his mind can't handle all of it at once, but one phrase keeps repeating.

_"She's pregnant."_

Fuck.

The life they lead is no world to raise a child in, and for all of his daydreams about a small army of tiny humans with his warm skin and their mother's bright green hair, Marcos has always been aware of this. Yet it seems there's no choice in the matter, and the future he never thought he'd actually get is crashing around him.

He says a silent prayer in his head and puts it on mental repeat from now until… whenever he gets her back safe, whenever that is. No, whenever he gets _them_ back safe. Two become three in the space of a sentence.

"Please, please, protect my wife and our child."


End file.
